Crossing the Styx
by Pouncer
Summary: Elizabeth had spent the night writing reports of the Genii occupation, attempting to exorcise the fear that had nearly choked her with Kolya. Gen. Spoilers for 1x11 The Eye. Written in spring 2005.


**Crossing the Styx**

by Pouncer

The jumper's flight was smoother than Air Force One. That trip had been after a hurricane too, a Bahamas vacation with Simon cut short because of weather and a call from the Chief of Staff.

Sheppard's eyes had looked bruised when she met him in the jumper bay, and Elizabeth wondered if he'd slept at all since he reclaimed Atlantis from the Genii. When she attempted to ask about his state of mind, he shrugged her off and waved Ford and Teyla into the jumper. Damage assessment of the Athosian settlement. _Did their small collection of tents and fields count as a village_, Elizabeth wondered.

Ford sat next to Sheppard, regaling him with tales of Carson during the storm. The Lieutenant wasn't pleased with their doctor, but Elizabeth knew Carson had never faced severe weather flying before, let alone combat. To her mind, he'd recovered from the effects of his mild concussion and gotten back to work very quickly. Elizabeth had informed him of Rodney's injury and stress, picking her words with delicate care. Carson had agreed that rest would be the best thing for Rodney after stitches basted his cut arm back together and had enforced the prescription with a judicious helping of pharmaceuticals. Elizabeth suspected she would face an irate astrophysicist tomorrow, but he deserved a day of sleep.

They all did, really, and they would have gotten it if the Athosians weren't quivering to return to the mainland. Elizabeth insisted on joining the initial survey; there was so much to see in this new galaxy, but she'd spent most of her time in or near the Atlantis control room, chained by the necessity to lead in a crisis. Bates and Grodin had been left in charge with orders to call immediately in case of emergency. _Please God, no more disasters_.

Elizabeth had spent her own night writing reports of the Genii occupation, attempting to exorcise the fear that had nearly choked her with Kolya. She had been so desperately scared, after the anger. And of course, writing about Lewis and Morgan's deaths. Two more people who would never see Earth again, lives balanced against the potential gains from Ancient technology. If they could only harness Atlantis's resources. . .

"Have you been to the mainland before?" Teyla's question halted the cascading list of things Elizabeth should be doing instead of indulging her need to flee.

"No. The pictures were beautiful." Elizabeth hoped something survived. The tents could be pitched again, but the crops were needed desperately to stave off rationing.

"The village was located most providentially." Elizabeth caught a glimpse of sadness on Teyla's habitually smooth face. _She's lost her home and her people to join with us_, Elizabeth realized. Stupid not to have seen it before, but the incident of suspected Athosian collusion with the Wraith had strained her early ties to the other woman.

"If the fields are damaged beyond repair, we'll help you replant," Elizabeth said, attempting reassurance.

"We have relocated many times," Teyla said. "Storms like this were not known on Athos, but Wraith attacks were perhaps worse."

Elizabeth wondered how Teyla could sound so calm, so matter of fact. The refugees she had met in Bosnia had been shell-shocked, weeping, after too many failed cease-fires in a handful of years. Teyla had grown up under the Wraith's shadow; maybe it was because she expected to live as a nomad. Or maybe repetition had numbed her ability to grieve.

"Mainland's coming up," Sheppard announced, and Elizabeth turned her attention to the view screen. The surveillance photos had depicted lush woodland. Now the trees lay tangled and overturned like a box of dropped toothpicks. The devastation was stunning.

Nobody wanted to break the silence as they flew over mile upon mile of wreckage. Elizabeth could see standing pools of water far inland, probably proof of the storm surge. Every twenty to thirty years, she reminded herself. The ecosystem would recover, although perhaps not in time to do any good for Atlantis. So much depended on the Athosian crops maturing fully. Or finding trustworthy planets to trade with for food. Ones that wouldn't invade and demand explosives. The bitterness almost choked Elizabeth, and she had to consciously redirect her thoughts.

"How far to the settlement, Major?"

"Not far at all," he replied.

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Miracle of miracles, the Athosian plantings had come through the storm relatively unscathed. The smell of moist earth, rich and redolent of spring, hovered over the fields. Teyla seemed to think that the battered seedlings would bounce back and yield a good harvest. A few overturned trees littered the space where the Athosian tents had stood and Sheppard and Ford were already imagining schemes for jumper-assisted clearing. The major's sunglasses shielded his eyes, but he looked more animated now. Productive labor was always cheering, in Elizabeth's experience. Not that there was much they could accomplish now, with just the four of them.

Teyla looked up from where she was crouched examining a pale green sprout that tilted haphazardly against the wet fields. Her hair waved in a gentle breeze, a mere ghost of the gales that had traveled through the area. "We are lucky that this storm happened now. Another handful of days and these stems would have been too brittle to recover. Tuttleroot plants are soft when young, but they harden quickly. They would have broken and rotted in the ground, unable to sustain new growth."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise; she hadn't realized that Teyla's knowledge extended to agriculture. Although in a nomadic society subject to frequent upheavals, every person would have to have a basic understanding of key survival methods. Hadn't she read some anthropology study of African hunter-gatherer tribes at one point?

Teyla was still looking up at Elizabeth, expecting a response. _I'm more tired than I thought_. "It's very good news that they'll recover." Self-evident idiocy, but Elizabeth couldn't come up with anything profound at the moment. "Do you agree that your people can return here? It seems like there's some work to be done, but those two," vague wave toward Sheppard and Ford, "think that it shouldn't be too difficult." The sun felt warm on her face and bare arms.

"I think it would be very good for my people to return. Too many disruptions too soon would cause even more trouble."

"There's trouble?" The thought of it made Elizabeth want to weep. Too many problems, too little time, and always the looming threat that the Wraith would find them.

Her expression must have given away her mounting dismay. Teyla stood and stepped closer, "Nothing too bad, but every relocation causes strain. On the whole, though, my people are grateful to have this new world to explore. And that you gave us the opportunity to settle here."

"You do a lot for us, Teyla. Please don't forget that."

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Elizabeth closed her eyes on the flight back to Atlantis, attempting to cat-nap. The jumper's sterile air made her long for Simon's garden back on earth, where she could retreat for an afternoon of reading, catching up on her international affairs journals while hummingbirds buzzed at his flowerbeds. As she dozed, she entertained idle thoughts of how some of the big names in political theory would react to the interstellar landscape. _I bet Mearsheimer would have given the Genii nukes to counterbalance the Wraith. And Doyle would want to teach them about voting rights._ Maybe someday she could trail blaze the literature on universal politics.

xxxxxxxx

Halling's voice echoed through the corridors as Elizabeth approached the control room. "It isn't right! The dead must be honored, no matter their offense!"

Bates reply was too soft for Elizabeth to distinguish the words, but his tone was so venomous that she quickened her pace. _Dammit, this was supposed to be a last check before collapsing for twelve hours!_ "Gentlemen! What's the problem?" She glanced between them. Halling was clenching his jaw and looking earnest, while Bates' eyes held a wild glint that heralded violence. The other Atlantis staff were standing around looking nervous, eyes focused on their work stations in careful avoidance of the brewing conflict.

Their replies broke over one another, a babble of meaningless noise. "One at a time, please." Her tone conveyed absolute seriousness. "Halling?" Always allow the petitioner the chance to state his case first, her first negotiating class had taught.

"The Genii dead. They must be honored. Our obligations to the ancestors demand it."

Elizabeth felt like breaking down into a sobbing fit, but she took a deep breath instead. "I see. What type of honor is appropriate for invaders?" _Who killed men I knew, and tortured Rodney in front of me_, she wanted to add, but they couldn't afford more tension with the Athosians.

Halling reeled off a rapid list of measures, from washing the bodies to praying over them. Bates looked like he would explode as the recital continued, and Elizabeth held up a hand to try and contain him.

"Would you take care of this? You and your people?" The thought of what to do with the dead Genii hadn't even entered her mind since Sheppard had shot Kolya, breaking his embrace across her chest. Her ears had rung for hours from the bullet's percussive force. She didn't want to deal with this now. _We shouldn't have to worry about enemy dead._

"Of course, we would be happy to see to the appropriate rituals."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to hone her fading mind to sharpness. "Very well. Do what you must, and then we'll send their bodies through the Stargate to the Genii. Let us know what supplies you need. Sergeant, if you'll join me in my office?" She walked away before Bates could protest, wanting to get into private before he exploded. She let his fury wash over her, needing to know nothing but the passion he felt compelled to express.

"Sergeant, I understand your feelings. But I also know that one of the hallmarks of a civilized society is how they treat their enemies, no matter how loathed. Not to mention the fact that we need the Athosians' farming ability to feed this city, and we can't spoil their good will. I'm as upset about Corporal Lewis and Sergeant Morgan as you are." Bates looked like he wanted to interrupt, but Elizabeth kept going, "No. I am. But if they had died on a mission, we'd do our utmost to retrieve their bodies for their families." She paused, holding his eyes. "We have to do this."

He looked away for a moment, mouth tightening in displeasure, but soon turned to her again. "Yes, ma'am. I understand."

"Thank you, Sergeant. I knew you would." _Turn his mind to something else, Elizabeth. Don't let him brood_ "Have you thought about a memorial service for Lewis and Morgan? Could you see about arranging something?"

Bates nodded. "I haven't thought about it, Dr. Weir. I'll see what I can come up with."

She smiled at him. "Thank you." She watched him exit her office and looked around. It was time to escape to her quarters. More than time.

-end-

Notes: My thanks to Katie and Rivier for their encouragement. This was started for the enclosed spaces challenge, but words seep out of me so I adapted it for culture clash instead. Shockingly, this is only my second story in the Stargate universe. That needs to end.

Disclaimer: If they were mine, Sheppard would be shirtless a lot more often.

Feedback, positive or negative, is always welcome.


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